Sybil's Child
by JessieBess
Summary: Will Tom stay at Downton or will he take his newborn daughter and move away? Most of the cast will be featured.
1. Chapter 1

"Thank you Anna" Mary quietly uttered as Anna put the finishing touches on her hair. Anna nodded in the mirror at Mary's image and silently left the room. Mary remained sitting there her downcast eyes staring unseeingly at the top of the vanity table. A few weeks ago at this time Sybil would have waddled into the room glowing with happiness as she gently rubbed her protruding belly …. Mary's eyes filled with tears at the memory but at least this image of her sister was a happy one not like … Mary shuddered as she willed herself to not think of that.

Sighing deeply, her hands firmly grasping the vanity table, Mary stood and trudged to the window expecting to find the weather matching her mood but instead found an azure sky beckoning one to come out and enjoy the day. Maybe some fresh air would brighten her mood.

She steered clear of the nearby back gardens instead heading for the Monks Garden which had become too far for Sybil to walk or as Mary would gently tease her to _waddle_ which would earn her a gentle slap on the arm and a "wait until it's your turn _._ "

The tall yew arches set the Monks Garden apart from any of the other Downton gardens. A long time ago, Mary envisioned bringing a handsome gentleman caller here, maybe stealing a kiss under one of the yew arches where they would be free of prying eyes but that had been an unfilled dream of a naïve young girl.

Mary was surprised to see him sitting on a bench in the garden. She thought he didn't venture far from the nursery even taking most of his meals there. Her surprise grew when she realized he wasn't alone for in his arms he cradled six week old Sybil. Sybil … just silently saying the name filled her eyes with unshed tears. She had been surprised when Matthew had told her that Tom had declared the baby's name would be Sybil.

 _"I want to get outdoors but Tom wants to finish his writing" Sybil announced one morning as she stood in the open doorway of Mary's bedroom "so would you like to join me for a walk and some sisterly conversation?" And so it became a morning routine for them to take a stroll around the gardens. Sybil had always loved the outdoors much more so than either she or Edith. She loved riding and Edith enjoyed sitting in the garden and reading a book but that was about the extent of their enjoyment of the outdoorseven as children. But as a child Sybil could have spent all day outdoors exploring the grounds, climbing trees or just running around the lawn playing with Papa's dog. Even the gardens appealed to the young Sybil and she had a vast knowledge of plants and flowers cultivated from hours spent watching and talking to the gardeners as they worked._

 _"I've almost forgotten how beautiful this view is" Sybil said one morning as she and Mary sat on the bench under the huge cedar tree. Now far into her ninth month of pregnancy, Sybil and Mary's walks had been shortened from strolling in the gardens to walking to this bench within sight of the house. At Sybil's words Mary admired the view of the lushly green gently rolling hills dotted with trees and bushes, stone fences separating fields of grazing sheep._

 _Her first inclination was to make a comment about how different this was from Sybil's Dublin life but Mary knew that such a comment even one made in jest was a minefield. Although the wistful sound of Sybil's voice made Mary wonder if Sybil had ever been homesick while in Ireland she wouldn't bring up this topic._

 _"Have you decided on a name for the baby?"_

 _"We've decided on Daniel Brian after Tom's father and grandfather" Sybil replied. "But for a girl … well …" Sybil sighed "that hasn't been so easy." She then went on to name some Irish names that Mary couldn't pronounce and had even less idea how to spell. "If it should happen today I think we'd name her Aibrean or Grainne but tomorrow…" she shrugged her shoulders._

 _"Why not something simple like Elizabeth or Anne" Mary turned to Sybil with a smirk on her face "or Mary?"_

 _Undaunted, Sybil shook her head and laughed. "No it will be an Irish name" she adamantly replied._

Like everything else involving Tom, her father hadn't been happy about Tom's decision to name the infant Sybil. _Ghoulish_ he had described it. But she could understand Tom's decision even though it wasn't one she would have made.

He was so focused on his daughter that he hadn't heard her approach. Mary stood there under one of the tall yew arches watching him as he gently cooed and murmured strange sounds that she finally realized must be Irish.

When Sybil and Tom had come to Downton for her wedding Mary had promised Sybil she would get to know Tom and to value him. That had seemed like it would be an easy thing after Tom had taken it upon himself to reconcile Mary and Matthew the night before their wedding.

"You'll never be happy with anyone else as long as Mary walks this earth." Even now those words could make Mary smile.

Then came that dark stormy night when Tom suddenly appeared at the door, rain soaked and alone. She was angry that he had left a seven month pregnant Sybil behind to fend for herself and became angrier as the story emerged as to what had brought him here that night. She began to think once more that Tom wasn't worthy of her beloved younger sister.

Yet that changed again the night the child he was now holding in his arms was born. Mary saw the genuine fear in Tom's eyes that he might lose Sybil. If she had questioned it before, Mary had to admit that that night ended any concern she had about Tom's feelings for Sybil. It was obvious that Tom was deeply in love with his wife.

"Taking advantage of the sunshine?"

At the sound of her voice he quickly looked up at her, a flash of unease crossing his face, then just as quickly he looked down at the babe in his arms.

Even though he hadn't asked her to or even gestured for her to do so, Mary sat down beside him on the bench. Despite the warmth of the sunshine, Sybil was wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Her bright blue eyes, so much like her mother's, were locked on her father's face, her tiny hand wrapped around one of Tom's outstretched fingers, Tom murmured lovingly to her.

"You seem quite comfortable with her."

Not taking his eyes off his daughter Tom answered "I've been around babies most of my life."

"May I hold her?" Mary surprised Tom with her request. Although in the weeks since her birth Mary had been a frequent visitor to the nursery Tom had never seen her hold the baby.

Tom gently handed the baby to Mary but she must have sensed Mary's unease for she immediately began wailing.

"For someone so tiny, she has quite the lungs" Tom chuckled. Then reaching for his daughter's hand he cooed "it's alright little one. This is your Aunt Mary."

Was it the gentle sound of his voice or the touch of his hand Mary wondered that seem to soothe the infant for within a minute or two she yawned and then closed her eyes.

Mary gazed lovingly at her sleeping niece. "I'm sorry I didn't speak out sooner."

His brows knitted in confusion as he looked at his sister-in-law. Realizing he didn't know what she was talking about she continued "About getting Sybil to the hospital that night."

He silently nodded his head but his body tensed as he looked away from her as he felt tears pool in his eyes. Although it had been over a month that night played out in his head over and over again. His anger at his father-in-law had barely subsided for whenever he looked at him he was reminded that the man's foolishness had cost Sybil her life.

"Someone should have let you know right away. It was your decision to make not Papa's."

He turned to look at her. "Aye it was."

If she had thought he had forgiven them, she saw in his eyes that wasn't true.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary knew by the sound of the footsteps in the corridor that someone was angry and that thought was confirmed by the way Matthew opened the bedroom door a little too forcefully. Even before seeing that she was in the room, or that she was alone, he grumbled "You father is impossible."

Although she had finished dressing and had dismissed Anna, Mary had remained sitting at her vanity table mindlessly opening and closing the lids and rearranging the various jars and bottles she kept on her vanity. It was a typical morning for her, one of no importance, no activities to engage her mind or fill her day.

She creased her brows wondering what conflict had now arisen between her husband and her father something that had become commonplace between the Earl of Grantham and his heir. Since investing his inheritance in the estate, Matthew and her father were now often at odds as to how to best manage it.

She took a deep breath, ready to take on her undesired job as mediator between her husband and her father. She set the jar in her hand on the table and turned to face her husband who had quickly crossed the room and now stood staring out one of the room's large windows.

"What idea has he rejected now?" Mary asked.

"Idea?" Matthew asked quizzically before realizing Mary thought his irritation had to do with estate matters.

He shook his head. "No … no … this isn't about the estate. It's Tom."

"Tom?" now Mary was perplexed wondering Tom could have done, other than just being here of course, to upset her father.

"Your father thinks Tom should leave or as he so eloquently stated at breakfast 'he has to make a life for himself some time.'" Matthew turned to look out the window.

"Surely Papa didn't mean it … that Tom needs to leave now."

"The man's lost his job and his country and now he's just lost his wife. I can't believe how insensitive Robert is." While Matthew would never had sought Tom out as a friend, circumstances had intervened and he had come to view his Irish brother-in-law as such.

Matthew glared at his wife. "I think Robert has made his distaste for Tom quite clear … even when Sybil was alive. Now with her gone …" he shrugged.

* * *

Robert's words didn't hit Tom as harshly as Matthew took them. It had only been in the last week or two that the all-encompassing grief that had filled his every waking moment had lifted enough for Tom to even think a bit about his future. He knew he did have to make a new life for himself and he couldn't envision that life would be at Downton. But at the moment he was truly lost as to what he would, or could, do.

That night at Drumgoole Castle had cost him so much. After achieving what he had wanted for so long, Tom had thrown it all away leaving his life as much in ashes as that of the once imposing castle. Once the shock of his inglorious return to Downton had worn away he had applied for numerous jobs with newspapers all over England but the few responses he had gotten were negative. He had come to the realization that no English newspaper was willing to hire someone like him. Sybil of course had thought he just needed to keep trying but now without her any optimism he might have had was gone.

Entering the bedroom that had been hastily converted into a nursery for his daughter, Tom was surprised to see his mother-in-law sitting on the nanny's bed leaning over Sybil who laid on the bed wiggling her arms and legs at the sound of her grandmother's voice.

Tom was aware that Cora visited the nursery since the nanny that Cora had insisted on hiring had told him so yet this was the first time he had found her here. He hadn't wanted a nanny, that wasn't how he and Sybil had been planning to raise their child but he had come to realize he couldn't spend every minute of his day with his daughter. Tom had relegated the nanny to most of the mundane housekeeping chores of taking care of an infant such as the laundry or preparing her bottles while he tended to her needs like holding her as she drank her bottle or rocking her to sleep.

"Sybbie precious" Cora cooed in her soft voice as her hand playfully patted the infant's belly.

Tom had barely seen Cora in the past few weeks as she had remained mostly sequestered in her bedroom. Other than himself, no one had taken Sybil's death as hard as Cora and, like himself, he knew she blamed her husband for taking away any chance they had had of saving her. Looking at Cora playing with baby Sybil he saw that although she was noticeably thinner the color had returned to her face, her eyes were no longer red rimmed and glistening with wet tears. She looked genuinely happy to be playing with her granddaughter and Tom glimpsed of how Cora must have been with her own daughter.

Sensing Tom's presence Cora turned her head toward him. Her face beaming with love she said "I think she's starting to recognize her name."

"You called her Sybbie not Sybil" Tom commented as Sybil's hand grabbed one of Cora's fingers.

Cora smile deepened as she looked down at her granddaughter. "It's the same but different. Somehow I think Sybbie fits her."

"Sybbie" Tom repeated as if memorizing a new word.

He moved the rocking chair closer to the bed and sat down. Smiling, he looked at his daughter and quietly called "Sybbie."

He reached over and patted the top of Sybbie's head. "Is that what we should call you … Sybbie" he cooed causing the infant to turn her head slightly as if trying to see her father. "I think I like that."

Keeping his hand on Sybbie's head still so full of dark brown hair, he looked at Cora "Did you ever call Sybil that?"

The smile on Cora's face quickly vanished replaced by that unmistakable look of sadness. She shook her head slightly as she very quietly replied "No."

For a moment Tom and Cora seemed lost in their own thoughts until Sybbie's loud gurgles broke through that sudden rush of sadness causing them to look at her. Neither could help breaking out in smiles at the wiggly infant.

"She's such a happy baby. I can't believe how much she has grown" Cora remarked as she once again playfully patted the infant's belly. "They change so fast."

"I'm already beginning to see some personality" Tom stated. "She'd much rather be there on the bed than in the bassinet."

"It's easier for her to see you" and as Sybbie grabbed one of her fingers "and for her to touch you."

* * *

Robert had retreated to his sanctuary. While Mary had her bench underneath the hanging branches of the large cedar tree, Edith had the rose garden and Cora had her own sitting room, Robert had the library whose shelves contained many rare volumes as well as fine first editions that would be the envy of any library and certainly matched or exceeded the libraries found in other estates.

Yet for him the lure of the room was not the massive volume of books it contained, in fact he had read very few of them and had no desire to read many more, but rather the room itself that appealed to him. From the richly paneled walls to the imposing fireplace to the wall of floor to ceiling windows with their panoramic views, the massive room capped with the elaborately paneled ceiling spoke of the generations of wealth and position of the Crawley family.

Robert didn't think it was a cold imperial room for the luxurious fabrics of the draperies, the fine tables and stuffed chairs scattered around the room and the plush red sofas arranged in front of the fireplace gave the room a homey feel that showed it was a room used by the family. The family gathered here for conversation or to meet with visitors and it was here that tea was served every afternoon and it was the place where Robert spent hours each day sitting at his desk conducting estate business and tending to his correspondence.

Robert set the invoice down on the desk and rubbed his eyes thinking it was too hard to concentrate on estate matters today. He wasn't foolish enough to not realize that they had to make some changes yet he was miffed about many of Matthew's plans and ideas. Sighing deeply he straightened up and looked out one of the large windows to the sweeping view outside.

He had positioned his desk in just this spot so he could view not only the whole room but also easily lift his eyes up from his work and look out the window. Yet it wasn't the view of the distant gently rolling hills that now caught his attention but rather a solitary figure pushing a large black pram across the lawn. Robert watched as Tom maneuvered the pram across the uneven grass until he was no longer in sight. As if he didn't have enough worries or problems with the estate, Robert now had to contend with the issue of Branson. He couldn't bring himself to call the man his son-in-law especially not now, not with Sybil …

He shook his head as if in doing so his mind would erase those thoughts of Sybil for he needed to think about the situation with Branson. The man did not belong here. He was a chauffeur, he shouldn't be sitting at his dining table or sleeping in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He wasn't one of them and never would be. Even Branson knew that thought Robert for Branson's remarks at breakfast this morning about not staying here showed that.

Robert's eyes drifted to the photograph that sat prominently on his desk. Like most of the family photographs this one had been taken by a professional photographer that Cora had hired, unlike almost all of the other photographs this one was a candid shot. Picking up the silver frame he saw an eight year old Sybil not quite looking directly at the photographer but rather at something unseen behind him that had captured her attention. Wisps of her hair had escaped the ribbon which had carefully been tied around her unruly mass of curls but what drew the viewer was that beaming smile that lit up her face with an unmistakable look of joyfulness mixed with more than a hint of mischievousness.

"Why do you keep that photograph on your desk?" Robert had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Mary enter the room.

Setting the frame back on his desk, Robert knitted his brows in confusion at Mary's question. "I have pictures of all my daughters here" he responded as his hand gestured toward the array of photographs framed in varying sizes and ornateness of silver frames adorning the desk and the table nearby.

Mary nodded her head as she glanced at the stilted and posed photograph of herself standing in her coming out gown and another one of an equally dressed Edith sitting in the elegant drawing room of their London town house.

She leaned over and picked up the photograph of Sybil. "No I mean why this particular one and not one of her older like at her coming out?"

Looking at the photograph Mary held in her hands, Robert smiled. "I just always liked that photograph. It so captured her … her liveliness … her exuberance … her mischievousness." His voice choked as he spoke his and his eyes clouded over.

Mary nodded in understanding for the photographer had done a great job in capturing Sybil's personality or at least those lovable traits and one couldn't help but smile when looking at this photograph. But Sybil had also been stubborn and willful and even devious. Wasn't the whole situation with Branson evidence of those traits? Yet, Mary quickly reminded herself, those traits had never been borne in maliciousness something that couldn't be said for herself or Edith.

When Mary looked up at her father she saw that he was no longer looking at the photograph but instead intently staring out the window. She turned her head to see what had captured his attention and saw Tom pushing the pram.

"Matthew says you're pushing Tom to leave."

Robert's voice didn't hide his irritation. "The man needs to get on with his life."

Sounding equally irritated Mary responded. "You need to give him time Papa. He's grieving."

"He's not one of us and never will be. He doesn't belong here" Robert retorted.

"And what of the child? Sybil's child … your granddaughter." Mary asked.

Robert closed his eyes as he sighed deeply.

Uncharacteristically Mary moved closer to her father and reached out to gently squeeze her father's arm. Mary quietly stated "He was Sybil's husband. She loved him Papa. Very much so and we need to remember that."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I'm especially thankful for those that continue to read this story. I know it's a painful subject for so many including myself._ _As always I appreciate the reviews._

It was a most unusual situation thought Ida Swanson. She had worked for enough families like the Crawleys to know that babies were like a bauble. Something to be brought out for an hour each afternoon where they were cooed at and fawned over before being put back in their box otherwise known as the nursery which was usually located far from the domain of the rest of the family so that no one would be disturbed by sounds of a crying baby.

But nothing about this situation was normal even barring the tragic circumstances surrounding the child's birth. The nursery, which was really just a bedroom in which a bassinet had been placed, was in a short corridor just off the main corridor where the family's bedrooms were located. Her ladyship visited daily as did the two sisters. Lady Grantham didn't display any of the usual awkwardness or stiffness with the infant that Ida thought seemed to be the more prevalent behavior of aristocratic parents and she attributed that to her being American.

Then of course there was the child's father. It hadn't been a month since his wife's death when Ida had come to Downton and the deep grief of the man was evident. On more than one occasion she had found him sitting beside the bassinet watching his sleeping daughter, his hand holding onto one of her tiny fingers, with tears streaming down his face. Now he was more likely to sit on the window seat holding her snuggly in his arms or slowing rocking back and forth in the rocking chair holding her little body against his chest as his hand gently brushed her hair or rubbed her back. Sometimes he jabbered away in a language Ida didn't understand while at other times he sat there in silence.

In the first weeks she was here, the man seemingly lived in the nursery, even having his meals sent up on a tray, leaving only to sleep. Ida wasn't use to having someone in the nursery with her and she often wondered why she was even here when Mr. Branson did almost everything for the child leaving the laundry and preparing bottles as the only tasks solely performed by her.

Although he still spend the bulk of his day in the nursery he had begun taking the child out in the pram for long walks in the morning and often again in the afternoon and now he sometimes left the nursery for his meals, breakfast or lunch but never dinner she noted. He also spent time with Mr. Crawley out on the grounds of the vast estate.

It was only through her visits to the kitchen or laundry that she had gathered tidbits of Mr. Branson's past as the family's chauffeur before marrying the youngest daughter of the house then the couple marrying and living in Ireland before fleeing back to Downton under somewhat mysterious circumstances. None of the servants had an unkind word to say about the late Lady Sybil, which Ida thought spoke well of her, and all seemed to genuinely grieve for the young woman.

All in all it was a most unusual situation thought Ida.

* * *

"Seeing the state of the sheds I'm surprised this barn is still standing" Tom remarked. He and Matthew were standing in the yard of what had once been a working tenant farm. While one shed had completely collapsed and the other was missing a wall, the barn in comparison was in good shape. There were a few planks missing in one of the walls but the open door showed that the loft was still standing as evidenced by the hay scattered over its floor.

When Matthew had become part owner of Downton and therefore privy to the estate's inner workings he was surprised to find just how precarious the financial side was as well as how slipshod the management had been. The farm he and Tom were visiting today was certainly an example of that lack of management.

"How long has this farm been deserted?" Tom asked.

"I'm not sure. I couldn't tell from the ledgers" Matthew responded. "But I do know it's not the only one."

"So while the estate was in desperate need of money there was land not being used?" Tom shook his head in disbelief.

"Unbelievable isn't it?" Matthew couldn't keep the disdain out of his voice.

"Actually I'm not too surprised." Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Men like Lord Grantham are too" he stopped as he realized he was talking to Matthew.

"Are too what?" Matthew asked.

Tom shook his head. "Are you sure this if the life you want rather than being a solicitor?"

"I am the heir whether I want it or not and now that I've invested my inheritance …I don't really have any choice."

Tom nodded. "Well at least you know what …" he looked off in the distance. Just beyond the crumbling stone wall that formed one of the borders of the yard was a field that at one time must have been a pasture but now was full of overgrown weeds.

Matthew looked at the man he now thought of as a friend. His heart ached for all the pain Tom was enduring. "There's no hurry for you to leave Tom."

"I'm not sure that sentiment is shared by everyone else certainly not Robert."

Matthew looked down at the ground a bit embarrassed. Tom was right Robert did want him to leave.

Tom picked up a stone and tossed it across the yard. "I'm not like you Matthew. Robert only sees me as a servant and with Sybil gone he doesn't even have to pretend to tolerate me."

"Have you thought of what you'll do?"

Tom closed his eyes and shuddered. "Getting a job at another newspaper is out. I tried that before" his voice broke "before Sybil died. The few papers that bother to respond were negative."

He picked up another stone and threw it. "My brother is moving to Liverpool to open a garage. He's asked me to come with him."

This news surprised Matthew not only because it was the first time he heard it but that he had no inkling about Tom's family. "Would you really consider that?"

"I don't really see much else." Tom continued throwing the stones much like he had done as a little boy. "I need a job. At least it's something I know and enjoy."

"But what of Sybbie?" Matthew asked.

Tom furrowed his forehead. "What of Sybbie?"

"What will you do with her?"

"I'll take her of course. I'll hire someone to watch her while I'm at work or maybe one of my cousins will come over."

"You could leave her here."

Tom turned to face Matthew his eyes burning with anger. "She's my daughter Matthew. She will come with me."

Matthew's face turned red realizing he had angered his brother-in-law. He reached out and touched Tom's arm. "I just meant until you get settled."

Tom nodded as he realized he had spoken too harshly and that Matthew's intentions were good. His eyes clouding with tears he spoke very softly "She's all I have left of her mother and I won't be separated from her."

* * *

Since that night there were two rooms in the house that Robert had avoided. Like the rest of the family he had avoided the room where Sybil had spent her final moments. Unlike the rest of the family he had avoided the nursery. In fact, he had not seen his granddaughter since the night she was born.

He couldn't face seeing her for she was too much of a painful reminder of what he had lost and, even worse, what he had done. It would be easier when Tom left taking her with him.

He was sitting at his desk when he spied Matthew and Tom walking away from the house. He knew they were going to visit one of the tenant farms, it was something they had discussed at breakfast, and so he knew they would be gone for an hour or more. Laying his pen on the desk top, Robert closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead thinking maybe it was time.

His stride lessened the closer he got to the nursery until he stopped just short of the open doorway. He could hear the sounds of someone, probably the nanny, bustling around the room opening and closing drawers. He knew he had to do this not only for his sake but for hers. Her … the thought stopped him cold. It wasn't just her … it was two hers … it was Sybil and her child.

The nanny couldn't have looked more shocked than if the sky had fallen in. She had only seen the master of the house from a distance and had never been introduced to him even though she had now been working here for a month.

She nervously patted her cap before dropping her arms to her side. "Your lordship" she stammered.

Standing in the doorway, he nodded at her aware of her discomfort and wondered if she could see that in him too.

"I came to see my …" he fumbled a moment before saying "my granddaughter."

She stared at him wondering what had brought about this sudden visit.

He looked around the room before his eyes rested on the bassinet. Maybe if she was sleeping this would be better he thought.

He walked over to the bassinet and looked down at the child laying there. She was lying on her back with a soft pink blanket covering most of her but for one tiny arm atop of the blanket.

"Mr. Branson just left and I always put her down then" the nanny spoke but Robert wasn't listening. His eyes were glued on the sleeping infant.

Unaware that the nanny was still babbling away, Robert said "I was wondering if I might have a few minutes alone with her."

My heavens! thought the nanny, this morning couldn't get any stranger. "Of course my lord." She hesitated before adding "I'll just take these things down to the laundry if that's all right."

Without taking his eyes off the child in the bassinet, he nodded his head. "I'll be fine" he remarked.

She bustled about picking up some things, took one long look at his lordship and then hurried out of the room.

Robert stood there watching the gentle rise and fall of the infant's chest. It had been so long that he had forgotten how small children were at this stage. Surprised at how much hair she had, he automatically reached into the bassinet and gently ran one finger over her dark hair so much like her mother's. His touch caused her to wiggle although her eyes remained shut.

He pulled a chair over to the bassinet so he could sit there close to her. She began to move with her arms and legs going in different directions. Emitting a few soft cries she finally opened her eyes. He wasn't prepared for the blueness of her eyes.

Oh how much she looks like her mother he thought.

Fearing she would begin wailing and the nanny not yet back, Robert reached in and patted her chest. She grabbed one of his fingers and wrapped her tiny hand around it. It was only as he called her name that she looked up at him.

"You finally came to see her." It was said quietly, the tone flat giving no indication of the speaker's feelings.

He wasn't aware of Cora's presence until she spoke. It was only recently that Cora had begun to forgive him although he feared she would never completely do so.

"I've been afraid to" the pain clear in his voice.

Cora stood on the other side of the bassinet looking down at Sybbie. She didn't look at him instead keeping her eyes on the infant but she was smiling. "She's such a happy baby … so much like her mother."

"She looks so much like her" he whispered.

* * *

The woman actually gasped when she got her first view of the Abbey for even in her imagination the place hadn't been this grand. She set her suitcase down on the gravel path as she took in the sight before her. The walk from the railway station hadn't been that long but she was winded by the time she reached this spot so she stood here for a few minutes before continuing on.

The building seemed to grow even larger the closer she got to it until standing directly in front of it she felt dwarfed by the sheer size of it. Even the oversized iron studded wooden front doors seemed to be made to emphasize the hugeness of the place. As she waited for someone to answer the buzzer, she looked up at the large black iron wolf heads adorning each door and thought they didn't seem a very welcoming symbol.

She waited so long for someone to answer the door that she wondered if there was another door guests were supposed to use. The huge man who finally opened the door seemed almost as imposing as the building.

She hadn't come all this way to be intimidated regardless of the disdainful way he looked at her or the dismissive tone of his deep voice. She didn't cower before the English at home and she wouldn't do so here.

"I'm here to see Tom Branson, my son" she proudly proclaimed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to those who have taken the time to leave a review. I appreciate hearing from you. This chapter may be a bit unexpected._

The unexpected appearance of Mrs. Branson had the quite rare effect of rattling Carson, a man who took great pride in being the consummate butler and thus able to adroitly handle any situation. He was accustomed to visiting Lords and Ladies and even the occasional Duke or Duchess or tradesman with business dealings with his Lordship but Mrs. Branson didn't fit into those neatly drawn categories of Downton visitors.

He had never made any secret of the fact that he thought Lady Sybil had married far beneath her or that Branson had defied the bounds of his position as chauffeur in pursuing the youngest daughter of the house. With the Bransons living in Ireland, Carson was able to put, as he would describe it, the sordid affair out of mind but that was no longer possible when the couple returned to Downton. He was galled by having the former chauffeur sitting in the dining room let alone the travesty of having to serve him and he felt like choking on his words every time he had to say _Mr. Branson._ But he had softened a bit towards the man with the passing of Lady Sybil for the man's grief was palpable and Carson wasn't entirely coldhearted.

As he stared at the tall slim woman, dressed plainly in a long black skirt with its matching jacket unbuttoned revealing a light gray blouse with ruffles down the center, Carson could see the resemblance to her son. Beneath the broad rim of her straw hat she had the same color blondish hair, although hers had some streaks of gray, and her eyes were the same color of blue. But it was the air of her that most reminded him of her son or at least the way he had been before tragedy had struck. It was that air of self-assurance as she stood there ramrod straight, her head held high, showing not the slightest bit of awe at her opulent surroundings, speaking calmly and firmly in an Irish lilt stronger than her son's.

Of all times for Branson to be out with Mr. Crawley he thought. Normally he would have escorted a guest into the library to await the family member, he winced a bit at the thought of Branson as _family_ , but he knew his lordship was in there and didn't think he'd like the intrusion certainly not from this _guest_. Nor could he imagine his lordship entertaining Mrs. Branson until her son returned. While it may have been appropriate to send for her ladyship Carson knew that she was still in deep mourning and rarely left her bedroom.

It seemed rather strange to have Mrs. Branson sit alone in the great salon but he couldn't think of what else to do with her while he went downstairs to get Mrs. Hughes. Since Mrs. Branson had a suitcase with her, Carson assumed she expected to stay in the house and that was Mrs. Hughes domain.

* * *

Sitting on one of the overstuffed floral print chairs arranged in front of the fireplace, Nuala Branson gazed around the "Great Salon" as Carson had called it. Despite what Carson may have thought she was astonished at her surroundings. While she had never been in a room with such fine furnishings, it was the long narrow room itself with its marble columns ending in large arches, the intricate wood carvings, and the soaring height of the ceiling that amazed her and instantly made her think she was in the nave of a cathedral. As she studied the room, taking in the fine architectural details, what was even more astonishing to her was that someone could grow up in a house like this and yet be so unassuming as Sybil had been.

* * *

Nuala sat gingerly on the edge of one of the plush chairs, this one covered in a tiny floral print, feeling as uncomfortable on it as she was in this room. How pretentious to name one's rooms she thought as she sat in what Mrs. Hughes had referred to as the Rose Bedroom but then again how does one separate one room from the next when there are so many of them she wondered. The name obviously referred to the prevalent color, a pale rose that dominated the room from the embossed floral print wallpaper to the drapes that covered the tall narrow windows to the chair she was sitting on. Although the room wasn't as grand in size as the room downstairs it certainly was grand in appearance.

She doubt if the four poster bed with the floral print canopy that matched the wall paper, did aristocrats have something against solid colored fabrics she briefly wondered, would even fit in her bedroom back in Dublin. The few decorative pieces in the room like the gold clock on sitting on the marble mantle of the large fireplace or the two matching Chinese print vases that sat on either side of the fireplace had probably been passed down from generation to generation. Unlike the rest of the house she had seen from her perch in the _Grand Salon_ or that she had glimpsed as she followed the young housemaid up the staircase and down the bedroom corridors there were none of those ghastly oil paintings of stern looking long dead relatives or hunting scenes adorning the walls of this room. The only thing hung on the wall was a huge mirror trimmed in gold positioned over the fireplace. It was a room for guests who probably only stayed for a night or two for it was not a room that conveyed a sense of warmth and welcome which matched the rather cool reception she had received from that man Carson.

She had as Mrs. Hughes had called it "freshened up" in the adjoining bathroom. It felt good to wipe the grime of the train from her face and hands. The train ride from Liverpool had been an eye opener for her as she had never been in England before and was pleasantly surprised how much the countryside as viewed from her seat in the third class compartment reminded her of Ireland. Wary of the reception she'd receive when her traveling companions discovered she was Irish, she had spent most of the trip staring out the window rather than joining any conversations with her fellow travelers. To her surprise, she had found the English here on their home turf were much more pleasant than those she encountered in Dublin.

She had taken off her hat and suit jacket both of which now laid on the bed. Her suitcase which had been carried upstairs by a young housemaid still sat unopened on the stand at the foot of the bed having rejected the offer of the young woman to unpack her belongings believing that some things were best left done by one's self.

Now sitting here alone in this room she wondered how long it would be until Tom returned. The disappointment she felt when Carson told her he was not in was tempered by the fact that Tom was out with Mr. Crawley. The grief and despair which was so evident in his letters had alarmed her so much that she had decided to make this unannounced visit.

Not that she had any plans to deceive but she hadn't corrected either Carson or Mrs. Hughes when they had assumed she had arrived straight from Dublin. She, along with two of her daughters, had accompanied her son Kieran to Liverpool two days ago. Much to her daughter Branna's regret, she had left her daughters there to clean the flat over Kieran's newly purchased garage while she traveled alone to Downton. Tom had not answered Kieran's offer and Nuala intended to find out whether it because he was still mulling over the idea or if, as she feared, in his grief he wasn't yet capable of making any decisions.

She jumped at the sound of knocking on the closed bedroom door even though the raps on the door were barely audible which matched her sense that everything in this house was done in quiet tones. Her hopes that it would be her son were dashed when opening the door she found instead Mrs. Hughes standing there holding a tray containing a china teapot, cups, and an assortment of plates that were covered with cloth napkins.

"After such a journey I thought you might like a cup of tea and a bite to eat" Mrs. Hughes stated as she slightly lifted the tray as if to emphasize her words. It was evident by the look on Mrs. Branson's face that she was disappointed her visitor was not her son.

"How kind of you." Overcoming her disappointment, Nuala mastered a small smile as she fully opened the door to allow Mrs. Hughes to enter.

Walking across the room to the sitting area in front of the fireplace, Mrs. Hughes set the tray down on the small table that sat between the two lounge chairs. Nuala, looking at the tea tray which in addition to the makings for tea also held a plate of four small sandwiches, a small wedge of cheese, and a plate of cake slices, realized she was hungry for she had only eaten a scone on the train.

"Would you join me?" The words came out automatically but Nuala didn't expect the look of discomfort that flashed on Mrs. Hughes face. It was just that Nuala thought the woman could probably put to rest some of her concerns. "It's just that … I've been so concerned about Tom … his letters have been … well it's clear his grief is so deep."

Sensing Mrs. Hughes' uneasiness she continued. "When Tom worked here he often talked about you in the letters he sent to me. He even went so far as to say that you reminded him a bit of me."

This last remark caused Mrs. Hughes to smile for she had always been fond of Mr. Branson and had found him a refreshing presence in the servants hall. She knew it was not proper for her to sit and have tea with a guest of the family and she would normally not even consider such a thing but then this wasn't a normal situation, this woman wasn't the usual guest and she was moved by the woman's obvious distress.

They were quiet as they prepared their cups of tea with the only sounds the clinking of spoons against the china cups. While Mrs. Branson ate two of the dainty finger sandwiches, Mrs. Hughes took the opportunity to more closely observe her. When she had met the woman downstairs she had thought Mrs. Branson, dressed in her practical outfit and her voice determined, seemed a no-nonsense type woman much like herself. Now with just the two of them, the woman had let down her guard revealing a caring and concerned mother who obviously knew her son well.

"It was such a shock when we learned about Sybil" Nuala finally spoke, her voice almost a whisper. "My family grew very fond of her while she was in Dublin especially my daughter Branna who's just a couple of years younger than Sybil. She wanted to come here with me but I feared her constant weeping would upset Tom even more."

She slowly set her tea cup on the table as if she was afraid if she set it down too fast or too hard the delicate bone china cup would shatter. There was no mistakiung the haunted look on her face or the pleading in her eyes as she asked "Tell me how is he doing?"

Stalling for time as she pondered how to answer the question posed by an obviously concerned mother, Mrs. Hughes took another sip of tea.

 _She didn't usually stay in her office this late but she had some work she wanted to finish. The house had been in such turmoil and much of her paperwork had been put aside as she attended to other duties. She, like the rest of the downstairs household, was just now rebounding from the unexpected passing of Lady Sybil. If it had been anyone else in the family it probably wouldn't have had the same effect on them but Lady Sybil had been so different from the rest of that lot. And of course the situation was made even more sadden by a now motherless child._

 _Everyone else had gone upstairs to their rooms so she was startled when she heard muffled sounds coming from the kitchen. Leaving the light in her office on she went to investigate who would be in the kitchen at this hour. The only person up at this hour should be the hall boy but he wasn't supposed to leave his upstairs post._

 _There were no lights on in the kitchen. The only illumination came from the hall lights that were always left on leaving the kitchen cast in shadows. He was leaning against the counter that ran across the back wall of the kitchen. It took a moment for her to realize it was Mr. Branson and her puzzlement grew as to what he was doing here until she decided that maybe he needed a bottle for the baby._

 _Moving into the room until she was standing next to him she asked "Does the baby need a bottle?"_

 _Instead of replying he stood there staring across the room towards the stove as if he didn't realize she was there beside him. Reaching out to touch his arm she again asked "does the baby need a bottle?"_

" _I stood here and watched her that day" he said in a voice so quiet she could barely hear him. "Laughing and talking with them as if they were equals. It was that day when I knew she …" his voice broke as he began sobbing._

" _Mr. Branson …" she started but wasn't sure what to say or do. It was then that an instinct took over, she had never been a mother but she felt the lad needed one now._

" _Tom" she called him by his given name which she had never done before and she covered his hands with hers as he openly and unashamedly wept._

"There's no doubt it hit him hard" Mrs. Hughes finally managed to say. "At first he barely left the nursery. It's only been in the past week or two that Mr. Crawley has gotten him out of the house. I think that child is what's kept him going."

Nuala nodded at those words. "I know grief" she sighed as she looked unseeingly across the room. "When my Patrick died I had seven children that needed me.

Sometimes no words are needed. The two women sat there in silence.

Nuala glanced once more about the room and silently noted once again all the finery, the plush fabrics and the heavy wooden furniture, realizing that the furnishings in just this room probably cost more than she would spend in her lifetime. "Seeing this place … her home … it makes me in awe of her that she adjusted so well to Dublin. She was so proud of that three room flat she had with Tom with the draperies I had made and the second hand furniture and the bare wood floors."

Mrs. Hughes nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Lady Sybil was a real beauty both inside and out."

It was then that the silence that Nuala found so deafening in this house was pierced by the wails of an infant.

"Is that my granddaughter?" she asked.

Chuckling, Mrs. Hughes replied "Aye. For someone so tiny she does have a good set of lungs!

Sounding hesitant and yet hopeful, Nuala asked "Can I see her now?

Nuala wasn't sure what to expect of a "nursery" for in her world infants stayed in their parents' room until weaned and then were moved into a room already occupied by their siblings. The only child that had their own room was the firstborn and in Catholic Dublin it usually wasn't long before a second child came. This nursery was just another bedroom, albeit a smaller one and not as lavishly decorated as her room for there was no large four poster canopy bed but rather just a brass framed single bed with a plain green coverlet much like those she had at home. Only the white wicker bassinet and possibly the rocking chair gave any hint of an infant's presence.

Sitting in the room's only armchair with the now quiet infant, Nanny Swanson seemed perturbed by the sudden appearance of the Mrs. Hughes and the stranger as if they had come to admonish her for the baby's crying disturbing the peacefulness of the household.

"She always cries a bit when she wakes up and she's hungry" the nanny defensively commented as soon as she saw them. Looking down at the child in her arms who now contentedly sucked on her bottle she smiled. "Isn't that it my darling you just needed your bottle."

Nuala stepped forward towards the nanny to get closer to her granddaughter. Before Ida Swanson could say anything, Mrs. Hughes stated "This is Mr. Branson's mother. Miss Sybbie's grandmother."

"Sybbie?" Nuala's voice held a hint of uncertainty.

"I believe her ladyship gave her that name and now it's what she's called" Mrs. Hughes answered.

Nuala nodded as she returned her look at the infant and she gestured at the small bundle Ida held in her arms. "May I feed her?"

Ida looked more kindly at the other woman now that she knew she was Mr. Branson's mother. "Of course" she said as she rose from the armchair and gently handed the infant to her grandmother. Ida could tell from the way the other woman expertly cradled the infant that she was used to dealing with babies. Whether little Miss Sybbie could tell she was in expert hands or that she was too hungry to care, she didn't make a sound as Nuala took her in her arms.

"Would you like sometime alone with her?" Ida asked. She was used to staying nearby when her ladyship or her daughters visited the nursery just in case she was needed, heaven help them if the baby started fussing or if she suddenly needed her nappy changed, but Ida thought Mrs. Branson would not need such help.

"I'd appreciate that" Nuala replied as she sat down in the rocking chair with Sybbie still contentedly sucking on her bottle.

Nuala gently rocked and cooed while Sybbie finished her bottle then held her to her chest while she rubbed her back waiting for the child to burp. It was then while holding the child to her chest, that Nuala noticed the framed photograph of Sybil sitting on the table beside the rocking chair. Although most of the photograph was of Sybil's face, looking so radiant with her white hat contrasting with her dark hair, a little bit could be seen of Sybil's dress which Nuala instantly recognized as the lilac one with the lace overlay she had made for Sybil to wear to her sister's wedding. In her suitcase, Nuala had a little dress she had made for Sybbie out of leftover material from that dress.

Setting the photograph back on the table, Nuala Branson did something that those who knew her well would find surprising. As she snuggled her granddaughter against her chest, tears fell down her cheeks.

* * *

Now that Mrs. Hughes had taken Mrs. Branson upstairs, Carson felt he had to apprise his lordship of their visitor. At the sound of the library door opening and footsteps entering the room, Robert set his pen on the desk and turned towards the doorway.

"We have a house guest milord" Carson announced causing Robert to rise from his chair. He began walking towards the butler, a smile on his face as he waited to greet his guest. He tilted his head as if trying to see around the butler's large frame.

Realizing his lordship thought the guest was behind him Carson, still standing behind the red sofa, stated. "I've sent her upstairs with Mrs. Hughes."

"Now you have me thoroughly puzzled Carson" Robert replied.

"It's Mr. Branson's mother sir."

"Branson's mother?" Robert abruptly stopped walking and stared at Carson as if he wasn't quite sure he had heard him correctly. "His mother? Golly!"

"I wasn't aware his mother was coming here" Robert stated.

"I gather no one was not even Mr. Branson."

Robert closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Did she say why she was here?"

"No sir. She only asked for Mr. Branson." Carson sighed deeply. "I didn't think it appropriate to bring her in here."

Robert snapped his head up and looked at Carson. "I'm sorry my lord should I have brought her in here?"

"No … no … Carson it's fine" Robert waved his hand in dismissal of the idea. "I'm just surprised after all this time she's shown up here."

Robert started walking back towards his desk. He stopped and turned back around to face Carson. "If we're lucky she'll make him see reason ... that he has no place here."


	5. Chapter 5

It was quite unusual for Carson to greet him and Matthew whenever they came back from their forays around the estate. So he should have known there something going on when they had barely walked into the entrance hall and, as if he had been watching for their return, Carson suddenly appeared in the grand hall. It took a minute or two for Carson's words to filter through his brain. _His mother was here. His mother was in the nursery._

Forgetting the decorum expected by those who lived here, indeed blocking out all thoughts but that of his mother, Tom ran up the stairs and down the corridor to the nursery abruptly stopping only as he neared its open door. From here in the corridor he could hear his mother's voice softly singing in Irish. He slowly inched his way to the doorway taking in the sight of his mother sitting in the room's lone rocking chair, a smiling Sybbie lying with her head on his mother's knees, her eyes focused on her grandmother's face, her little legs and arms flailing in the air. It was then, looking at his mother and his daughter, that for the first time since Sybil's death Tom felt he was no longer alone.

xxxxxx

"Mama" Mary spoke as she entered her mother's second floor sitting room.

Cora was sitting on a lounge chair, an unopened book lying on her lap, looking out one of the room's floor to ceiling windows. She didn't turn her head or give any indication that she had heard Mary call her name and Mary wasn't sure if it was because her mother was simply ignoring her or if in her mind she had retreated to someplace else. There was no doubt that Cora had taken the death of her youngest daughter very hard. While the rest of the family was slowly emerging from their grief, Cora was still deeply mourning.

Mary walked over and put her hand gently on her mother's shoulder. "Mama" she spoke softly.

Cora didn't turn her face towards Mary instead keeping her focus on the view out the window. "As a child she loved to sit here and watch for deer that edged so close to the house or rabbits that wandered in the hedge garden."

"I remember one time we spied a hedgehog. She was so fascinated by the odd looking creature, she stood here, her face touching the window for a better view, and we were rewarded with three or four little babies soon following it." Cora turned to face Mary, her eyes glassy, but a shy smile spreading across her face.

Mary smiled and nodded at her mother's story but she hadn't come here to reminisce. "Did you know that Tom's mother is here?"

"What?"

"Carson told Matthew and Tom a few minutes ago when they returned from looking at one of the vacant tenant farms."

Cora stood up. "When? Where is she?"

"I don't know when she got here. Carson told them she's in the nursery with Sybbie."

Clearly agitated, Cora began walking towards the door. "Carson didn't think to tell me we have a guest."

"Mama" Mary reached out to stop Cora. "Tom just found out. I think we should give them a few minutes alone."

xxxxxx

It had only been a few months since Nuala Branson had last seen her son but the devastation of those months was clearly etched on Tom's face. He was a shell of the man who had so proudly returned to Ireland as a journalist accompanied by his vibrant and vivacious bride to be. The man now standing at the nursery's doorway was not that man but a man who had been broken by life's cruelties.

She had thought that nothing would be as bad as his fleeing Ireland in the middle of the night. First there had been his foolishness with that castle burning business resulting in Tom fleeing Ireland in the middle of the night to avoid the authorities. For days afterwards she had silently cursed him and his idiocy. She too wanted the English out of Ireland, she wanted a free Ireland ruled by the Irish but that incident had done nothing to promote that. Indeed, from her view point, the only thing it had accomplished was to send Tom, and Sybil, right back to Downton only now jobless and penniless and at the mercy of Sybil's family.

She could never have imagined that that incident would not be the worst of it. At first Nuala thought the telegram had been someone's idea of a twisted joke. Sybil had been the picture of health, her pregnancy easily progressing with Sybil taking it in stride. How could it have happened to such a vibrant and vivacious young woman?

xxxxxx

The sight of Tom and his mother, pushing little Sybbie's pram, brought a smile to Cora's face as she watched them from her bedroom window. She had been appalled that neither Robert nor Carson had seen fit to inform her of Mrs. Branson's arrival and her anger only grew when she realized that the woman had been shunted off to a guest room to sit alone waiting for Tom's return. Her anger had resulted in the most unusual form of her berating Carson in the servants hall. _Mrs. Branson is Lady Sybil's mother-in-law and as such I expect you and the rest of the staff to treat her with respect._

Thanks to Tom and Nuala last evening had somehow brought her a peacefulness she had begun to fear she would never have again. During an informal dinner in Cora's sitting room the Bransons had obliged Cora with stories of Sybil's life in Ireland. It had been so wonderful to talk openly about Sybil which was something the Crawleys resisted as if mentioning her name would bring forth a public display of grief that was unseemly.

For the first time since that horrible night Cora had slept through the night without the aid of Dr. Clarkson's sedatives. The sedatives had allowed her to sleep but hadn't dulled the wave of grief that washed over her each morning when she woke. But this morning, with a night of fully restful sleep, had been different. She hadn't woken fearing the day or praying that she could just get through it until she could close her eyes again in hopes of forgetting.

xxxxxx

The pair had made their way to the lovely Monk's Garden where a few of the late blooming summer plants were still in flower although it was the large yew arches that were the focal point of the garden.

"So have you decided on Kiernan's offer?" she finally asked.

Tom knew his mother would eventually broach this subject but he still wasn't sure what his answer would be. Instead of answering her, he sat there staring across the garden.

"You have to do something Tom. If not the garage with Kiernan what?"

Tom grimaced. "That's just it isn't it? What else can I do? No paper in England will hire me."

She wouldn't bring up how Tom had no one but himself to blame for losing the job he so loved and was so proud of for it what good would that do?

Nuala looked across the garden to the house looming so large in the background. Even though she was here she couldn't believe such places as this existed. Sitting here in this peaceful garden one could shut out the rest of the world, at least for a time, but eventually one had to face reality

xxxxx

Robert looked at the stack of invoices and wondered if he should just let Matthew deal with them especially in light of the fact they all dealt with Matthew's idea for improving the old Weaver tenant farm. Setting his pen down on the desk, Robert thought of Joss Weaver. The farm had been passed down through several generations of Weavers but Joss had been too frail to continue running the farm and with the deaths of both his sons in the Great War there was no Weaver to take over the farm.

The sounds of the door opening at the far end of the room diverted his attention from the matters on his desk to his visitor. To his surprise it was his mother who swept in behind Carson.

"Shall I bring in tea?" Carson asked the Dowager as she made her way into the room.

"No thank you Carson but I will be staying for lunch" she replied.

Robert rose to greet his mother. "I wasn't expecting you this morning Mama." He knew the look on his mother's face meant she had something she wanted to discuss with him but nothing more was said until Carson had closed the door behind him.

Slightly shaking her head and waving her hand in that tsk-tsk manner of hers, Violet headed for one of the red sofas. Perched on the edge of the sofa, her hands resting atop her cane, Violet dispensed with any niceties and plunged into the topic on her mind. "I hear Branson is considering moving to Liverpool to work in a garage with his brother."

Her comments caused Robert, having only covered half of the room from his desk to the sofa, to come to a standstill.

"I gather that's his plan although he hasn't spoken directly to me about it."

"Do you really want your granddaughter to be raised by a mechanic and living over a garage?"

Robert took a deep breath. "What are we supposed to do? Keep Branson here doing what? You want me to give him back his job as chauffeur and he and Sybbie can live in his old cottage or would you have them live here in the house?"

"Of course not Robert. I agree he can't stay here but maybe there is a way for the child to stay here. She is after all Sybil's child and your only grandchild."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I feel like I'm taking a gamble with this chapter but any and all reviews are welcome.

* * *

Robert Crawley was not an evil man in fact many would even describe him as a kind man. But he was a man of his class and time and that meant he believed in the supremacy of the aristocracy. Men like Robert Crawley are used to the world obeying and respecting their wishes. In his world, men of his social and economic circle expect deference from those outside that circle especially from someone like his lowly Irish son-in-law. But Tom Branson didn't believe in that circle or in its unwritten rules. Tom Branson was not a man who could be bought. If Robert hadn't acknowledged that before he should have realized it from that morning at the Grantham Arms.

A wise man should learn from his mistakes.

After downing a quick drink of whiskey which didn't soothe his nerves as he had hoped, Robert sat at his desk in the ornate library of Downton Abbey. He had always considered this room to be his sanctuary yet at this moment he was not finding it comforting. As if to emphasize his current discomfort his hand robotically tapped a pen against the top of his desk. Although his eyes were focused on the window directly in front of his desk, he did not see the expanse of lawn outside the window nor did he see the deep blue cloudless sky that met the green fields in the distance. He did not see what was in front of him because his mind was replaying the scene that had just occurred here in the library.

If he had confided in his wife or his daughters or his other son-in-law, they would probably have told him his plan would not be warmly received and that he'd have to choose his words carefully. If they had known what had happened at the Grantham Arms almost two years ago, they would most assuredly have warned him he was treading on very dangerous ground.

But a man like Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, does not seek advice. It was after all Robert, without consulting his wife, who had brought the esteemed Sir Philip Tapsell to Downton believing that a man of his rank would be better than the local Doctor Clarkson. That decision had cost the life of his beloved daughter and had almost cost him his marriage.

A wise man should learn from his mistakes.

Tom's eyes widen in shock as he looked at the check in his hands … ten thousand pounds! His eyes drifted from the check to the man standing in front of him and then back to the check. When he looked back at the man again his eyes no longer conveyed shock but rather a singular look of disgust.

Waving the check in front of him, his voice barely above a whisper but a glint of steel in his eyes he asked "You want to buy my daughter?"

Robert shook his head. "I dare say you need money for this new venture with your brother." Tilting his head towards the check he continued "that should give you a start not only for the business but a new life."

"But only if I leave Sybbie here … with you?" The coldness in Tom's voice would have sent shivers up most anyone's spine but Robert, so clueless as he often was, didn't see what was coming.

Silence filled the room as Tom's mind fought with his anger. It was Robert who filled the void.

"Do you really want to have your daughter to grow up in a room over a garage smelling of grease and oil? Surely you can see Bran… Tom … that I can give her so much more than you can. Living here she'll—"

"You can keep her dressed in the finest of silks" Tom interrupted, his sarcasm completely lost on Robert, "and her toy box will be filled with whatever she wants and she'll know which fork or which glass to use-"

Now it was Robert's turn to interrupt. "Exactly my lad. She'll have the best of everything. She'll have riding lessons and piano lessons. She'll have her own nanny and a governess. She'll be accep-"

"She won't have her father."

Robert raised his hand as if to stop Tom. "Of course you can come visit."

Tom's anger had now risen so that his body was trembling. He reflexively ran his hand through his hair and looking away from his father-in-law and towards one of the floor to ceiling windows he took several deep breaths. His impulse was to slap this man silly but that would probably land him in prison.

The view out the window of the distant gently rolling hills, the fields separated by stone fences, made Tom briefly think of his beloved Ireland. He took one final deep breath and then turned back to face Robert.

"My daughter would have everything but what **her** mother and **I** want for her" his voice calm but steely, his blue eyes boring into Robert. "You forget it was a life your daughter left."

Tom raised the check and tore it in two letting both pieces drop to the floor. "My daughter is not for sale."

Tom brushed past Robert, his steps deliberate as he headed for the door on the far side of the room, stopping as he reached the first of the plush red sofas. He turned back towards Robert. "Sybil loved you but you failed to see her for who she was. You failed her-" his voice faltered.

Finding his voice again he continued "Sybbie and I will leave in the morning."

A wise man learns from his mistakes. But Robert Crawley was not a wise man.


	7. Chapter 7

Nuala Branson had never seen her son so angry. He had stormed into her room, cradling his infant daughter in his arms, then proceeded to pace up and down the room, his voice rising higher and higher in anger. Nuala sat in stunned silence, his words making no sense to her. It was only Sybbie's soft cries and the flailing of her little arms that finally made Tom pause in both movement and speech as he looked down at the small bundle in his arms.

He stood there for several moments, completely silent, his eyes focused on his daughter before finally sitting in the room's other lounge chair. He moved Sybbie so that her chest was against his and her head rested on his shoulder. Hugging her closely, he ran his hand gently across her back and lightly kissed her head as he softly murmured in Irish. Her cries ceased as she appeared to fall back to sleep.

"Tom what has happened?"

Nuala rose from her chair and sat down on the ottoman in front of him. As he stared at her she noticed the anger or rage in his eyes had been replaced by shimmering tears matching the expression of anguish on his face. She reached out took hold of his arm.

"Tom?"

oooooo

Although she had only been at Downton for a few days, Nuala Branson had had a profound effect on Cora. For the first time since Sybil's death, Cora no longer spent the greater part of her day in her room leaving her bed only for short visits with her granddaughter. Instead she spent most of the day in Nuala's company whether sitting in the nursery or in Cora's sitting room where the two grandmothers would dote over their granddaughter while Nuala knitted and Cora embroidered.

The two grandmothers would take short walks in one of the gardens while taking turns pushing Sybbie's pram. It was surprising to Cora how much Nuala seemed to enjoy the gardens making Cora realize how much she took them for granted.

What Nuala also offered Cora was the opportunity to freely and openly mention Sybil's name. Mary and Edith's emotions were still too raw to talk about their sister and Robert … well Cora still harbored too much resentment and anger towards him. She knew it would take time but even then she wasn't sure if she would truly ever forgive him.

But with Nuala, Cora found herself talking about Sybil as a child and wondering how much Sybbie would be like her mother. She talked about how proud she was of Sybil's work as a nurse during the war and her regret at never telling Sybil that. And Nuala talked about Sybil's integration into the Branson family and to Ireland.

Cora had some correspondence she needed to attend to so she was a bit late in coming to the sitting room that afternoon. Fully expecting to see Nuala sitting on the sofa, knitting needles flying away, while Sybbie, in the cradle Cora had had placed in the room, slept or waved her little feet and hands in the air, Cora was surprised to find the room empty.

oooooo

Cora did not find Nuala was in the nursery nor did she find Sybbie there. To her surprise not only was Sybbie not there but her bassinet was gone. Cora quickly looked around the small room wondering why nanny would have moved it but the bassinet was nowhere to be seen. However, Nanny Swanson was there with her back towards the door, she was bent over her bed folding clothes and packing them in the open suitcase which laid on the bed.

"Nanny Swanson" Cora's words startled the woman.

Cora walked into the room and stood beside the nanny. It was then that she realized the clothes the nanny was packing were Sybbie's.

"What's going on?" Cora pointed to the suitcase. "Why are you packing Sybbie's things? Where's her bassinet?"

ooooooo

Usually during the day, Nuala left her bedroom door open whether she was in there or not, so Cora was surprised to find the door closed. She knocked two times, then tried opening the door and was shocked at finding it locked. Her first thought was that no one locked their bedroom door at Downton. Now growing a bit panicked, Cora knocked louder on the door.

Nuala finally opened the door just enough to show her face, her body firmly blocking the door from being fully opened.

"Nuala … I … I just came from the nursery" Cora stammered still in shock at what the nanny had told her.

Nuala, her face cloaked in coldness rather than her usual warm smile, said nothing. The two women stood there facing each other.

"I don't understand what's happened!" Cora wailed. "Please …" she reached out her hand towards Nuala "please tell me what's happened."

Nuala turned her head to look back into the room before once more facing Cora. Her facial expression had softened a bit but still bore no warmth. "Do you really not know?"

ooooo

"How could you do this!" Cora's raised voice caused Robert to wince. He didn't immediately look at his wife fearing the anger he sensed in her voice.

It had been most uncharacteristic for Cora to practically run into the library and now for her to stand there almost yelling at him was unheard of. Not that they had never argued before but it had always been in the privacy of their bedroom and not here in the library where anyone including the servants could hear.

He felt her eyes bore into him and he realized he had never seen her so angry.

"How could you offer him money?"

"Isn't that what his type usually wants?"

"He didn't accept it when you offered it before why would you think he'd accept it now?"

Robert felt as if she had slapped him. _Before! How could she possibly know that?_

But after 30 years of marriage, she could tell what he was thinking. "Tom's told Nuala everything including the offer you made at the Grantham Arms."

Visibly shaken, the color drained from his face.

"Did Sybil know?" he whispered.

"If she did do you think she would have come back here?" Cora suddenly stopped talking as she looked away from Robert. She sat down in the closest chair.

When she spoke again her voice was eerily hushed as she seemed to speak to more to herself than Robert. "If she had known … if she hadn't come back here …" Cora dissolved into tears.

Robert wasn't sure what to say or do.

"Do you want your granddaughter to be raised by a mechanic living over a garage?"

"Of course not" Cora answered automatically the fight seemingly gone from her. "But that is beside the point."

She rose from the chair and stood facing him. "You must make this right. I've lost my daughter. I will not lose my granddaughter" and with that she calmly and deliberately walked out of the library.

ooooo

The next morning dawned cold and gray as if matching the mood of everyone in the house. At breakfast, where Robert was noticeably absent, Matthew had tried to lighten the mood cooing over Sybbie who, in a break from all tradition and much to Carson's consternation, was held in her father's arms. But his questions on the plans for Tom and his brother's new business were answered mostly by Tom in short sentences delivered in a monotone voice.

Among the women, only Nuala did not have eyes red from tears.

The quietness in the room allowed everyone to hear the crunch of gravel on the outside drive signaling the arrival of Tom's brother. Tom took one last sip of tea and rose from his chair. Nuala gave a slight nod to those still seated as she too rose from her chair.

Tom ignored Carson as he walked past him to open the front door himself and went out to greet his brother. Not knowing how much luggage Tom would have, his brother had borrowed a small lorry in which the three adults could squeeze into the lone front seat. Looking at the two trunks and the four suitcases sitting on the gravel, Kiernan was glad he had brought the lorry.

Tom handed Sybbie to his mother so he and his brother could begin to load Tom's belongings.

"Wait!" Robert called out as he now appeared outside.

Tom paused for a moment and then immediate went to his mother's side fearing Robert or one of the servants at his behest would try to physically take Sybbie.

"I think you should load these things first" Robert commended as several footmen walked out of the house carrying the cradle Sybbie had been using as well as a crib and other furniture such as a small dresser and a rocking to complete a nursery as well as several large boxes.

"The cradle was Sybil's" Robert, now standing beside Tom and his mother, said. "It's only fitting that her daughter should have it."

His eyes full of tears, he looked at Tom. "She was the last one to use the crib and Sybbie" he looked at his granddaughter "will need one soon. And the boxes have some clothes and books and toys of Sybil's I found in the attic."

"I … I'm not" Tom began but Robert cut him off.

"I can't begin to make up for what I've said and done" Robert looked from Tom to Cora and back to Tom. "Whatever else you think of me know that I loved my daughter with all my heart."

Tom wasn't sure what to say. He was filled with so many emotions including those in direct contradiction to each other. He wanted to scream at Robert and at the same time he was touched at the gesture of the gifts especially those things that had been Sybil's.

But he knew Sybil had loved her father and so he stuck out his hand which Robert gladly shook.

* * *

A/N: When I started this story I always knew I'd end with Tom and Sybbie leaving. However I wasn't so sure under what circumstances and I've gone back and forth on that and finally settled on this one. Thanks to all who have reviewed this story and I'd appreciate any final comments.


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